


The One with All the Unfinished Pieces

by Raikishi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, M/M, Youkai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuff that's not quite finished but not quite incomplete and are generally not quite anything.</p><p>Drabbles<br/>Some of these may be finished in the future. At some point. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Youkai!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youkai!AU

    It’s a full moon tonight and Steve hums at the sight of it, scenting the air. The human village is hushed, voices breaking the silence in pockets. He can taste fear and unease on his tongue and offers the humans his deepest sympathies in silence.

    Breathing deep, he tries to pick fire and iron out of the winds, catches the faint thread of it immediately, picking the scent out of the thousands in the air tonight.

    The night’s pockmarked by the supernatural, their taste bright and dangerously intoxicating. In the distance Steve can hear drums and pandemonium, can pick up each and every cry from the yokai marching in the parade. It’s Nurarihyon's Hyakki Yagyo* and the night belongs to the youkai. Without pausing, Steve steps to the side, skirting around the parade, flitting along the outskirts, as far from the chaos of the procession as he can stay without drawing insult. Every now and again he catches faint snatches of conversation aimed his way, flashing brief amused smiles to those who ask after the fox’s bride. He spies foxfire in the distance and draws his own tails together, snapping them.

    Blue flames crackle through the air as his fur rubs together, a warning and a welcome all at once and he picks up the restless hum of the human village when they spy the flames. There’s a brief surge of life that splinters the darkness like cicada calls and he picks out uneasy whispers, hears mothers urge their children indoors. The oil lights are snuffed, long beams of light snapping shut on the heels of the yokai. 

    The village falls into darkness and the parade descends. Steve presses forward, splitting off from the march and slipping through the village, rushing through with none of his usual caution. He moves pass, a blur in the darkness, and slows at a familiar house. He can feel a familiar heat settle across his fur, seep deep into his bones, breathing in fire and life through his mouth. The owner’s long since fallen asleep because humans have such woefully short lives and eighty years bear down hard on them. He spies the woman’s grandchildren gathered around her, happy soothing whispers and lingers briefly, breathing in peace and serenity. When the eldest snuffs out the oil lamp, he slips around back, taking care to avoid the servants moving about, drops noiselessly into the garden. 

    His tails drag through the grass, sparking briefly. Just because he has to be discreet doesn’t mean he cannot show off just a bit and he’d forgotten flowers in his haste. 

    “You chose a hell of a night to stop by,” Steve smiles at the familiar voice, a quiet friendly growl working in the back of his throat.

    Tony’s leaning against the doorframe, looking comfortable for the first time in his human form. He’s nursing a bottle of sake; Steve can taste it already on his own tongue. From the smell, he can tell instantly that Tony’s only on his first cup. And while the cat looks artfully bored, the twin tails pointing in the air behind him, betray his delight to the world. 

    “Learn to shift when it’s not a full moon before you start complaining,” Steve replies smoothly, biting down on a laugh, watching the cat’s ears flatten, irked. 

    Stepping forward, Steve feels his entire being shiver, shedding fur and claws until he’s naked and pink, human to all if they ignored the multiple tails dragging along the ground. He presses insistently into Tony’s lap, licking his cheek. Tony responds eagerly, purring and lifting his face to nuzzle Steve’s neck and chest. It’s a habit typical of pets and Steve waits in amusement for Tony to lay his claim on his skin. 

    Seemingly satisfied, Tony arches up, butting the bottom of Steve’s chin before pressing a light kiss against his lips. The kitsune wrinkles his nose against the smell of fish, tracks it back to the koi pond in the yard.

    “You’ve been teasing the fish again,” he complains, wrestling Tony to ground and the cat yowls at him, nipping at one of his tails.

    Tony purrs, arching into him and nipping wherever he can reach. Steve lays him down, presses them together and shuts the door against the bright chaos outside, closing his eyes against the heat that only Tony can bring.

    Afterwards they lay tangled in the nest of his tails, lazily stroking one another, memorizing the feel of each other’s skin and taste. Steve absently flicks his tongue across the nipple closes to him, tracing it with a finger, delighting in the quiet purr Tony makes. 

    The moon’s high in the sky, bringing back memories of that night he’d spent chased fire and iron, desperate to escape the snow and ice. The yuki-onna hadn’t taken kindly to his trespassing and he had paid for his mistake. He snuffs, closing his eyes against the memory, pulling Tony fractionally closer, breathing him in to chase back the sight of Bucky vanishing beneath snow. 

    Loneliness seeps into his bones, an old unwelcome friend.

    Come with me. 

    Steve doesn’t bother asking, knows Tony won’t leave his humans, not for a good lay. And hadn’t that been such a wonderful conversation.

    Tony nips at his ears, making him jump.

    “Shut up,” the cat grouses sleepily, curling up around him, “You think too loud.”

    Steve smiles, closing his eyes. He can wait, he decides. 

    They have centuries ahead of them. Beneath him, Tony makes soft nonsensical noises, aiming at comfort, chasing off echoes of the memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Nurarihyon's Hyakki Yagyo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyakki_Yagy%C5%8D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for stony bingo  
> Kink: realism and wanted to play around with dialogue

    “Jesus shit on a fuck– No. Nope! No– pull out. Pull out!”

    “Oh my god! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’msorryohmygodIbrokeyou–”

    “No. No no no. Just stop. No. Okay, just … don’t make any sudden movements towards me for a while.”

    “… Tony? Are you alright?” 

    “Fine. Just… just get the lube again.”

    “… I’m sorry.”

    “Stop that. It’s fine. It’s good. I’m good. Oh– Going to be way better if you keep that up.”

    “… You don’t look good.”

    “… Really starting to see how you didn’t have a date for ninety years.”

    “I’m _worried_ you unbelievable _ass_.”

    “Duly noted and I’m not going to have much of one after tonight it looks like. Okay deep breaths. Okay, I’m good to go. Go.”

    “Are you insane?!”

    “What?! I thought you wanted–”

    “You can’t just– I just…  _I_ need a minute.”

    “… Are you… huh. Guess super serum doesn’t do much for sustaining powe– _ow_! Rude.”

    “Shockingly I can’t get off to hurting you.”

    “Oh sweetie, there are some kinks I need to show you.”

    “…”

    “Ooh, what were you thinking that got that reactio– _ow_! Didn’t you do enough pinching earlier– fuck, no I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

    “I said I was sorry…”

    “It’s fine. Seriously it is. Like this body hasn’t been around the block and back a couple hundred times. You’re just hauling some serious cargo down this side street.”    

“… I think that analogy got away from you.”

    “Ridiculous. It was perfect. Anyway it’s fine. Just… more lube next time. All of the lube, Old Testament God opening the flood gates amoun– don’t look at me like that.”

    “Please don’t bring God into this.”

    “God’s always in this. ‘Oh God, oh God–harder’– we all know you watch porn Rogers. I’ve seen your internet history you filthy– ow! Okay, that whole pinching thing you have going on, really taking away from that sex appeal.”

    “This is the least sexiest conversation I’ve ever had.”

    “Oh come on; here lemme give you a hand–”

    “No. I’m just… just wait a minute. Please.”

    “… Do you… did you change your mind?”

    “… You did too.”

    “Hey! Watch the goods Rogers, I am not a hot dog to be waved around.”

    “Pfft.”

    “That was a very condescending snort Rogers. Are we going to have to whip it out right here and now?”

    “We _have_.”

    “Shush, expression. And besides, I just need a few hard jer–”

    “ _How_ have you managed to get laid at all?”

    “Well, if you’d shut up and let me jerk you off a few times I can show you.”

    “I just… I just…  _can’t_.”

    “Hey, no… it’s okay. No need to freak out to that extent. This sorta thing happens to everyo–”   

    “I can’t– I can’t hurt you.”

    “Ah.”

    “…”

    “…”

    “… Just gimme a minute and we can–”

    “No. Nope. Offer rescinded. Grab a towel and c’mere you giant lug.”

    “… _You’re_ a lug”

    “Mature. Okay, here, get me clean again– ooh, baby pamper me.”

    “… Shut up.”

    “Fine, fine.”

    “…”

    “… So cuddling?”

    “Yes please.”

 


	3. Sub!Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble I wrote for sub!Steve (if I get off my ass they'll be a goddamn fic at some point)

"Take me out," Tony orders and Steve blinks slowly, sluggishly.

Tony grins a little, breaking character but quickly schools his expression when Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and damp.

"Tony?" he asks, fingers twitching in the cuffs behind his back. The muscles of his shoulders flex before he stops, rethinking it.

"You’re the strategist," Tony urges, "Use that gorgeous brain a little."

Steve flushes, shifting on his knees as his cheeks go faintly pink. Tony watches as he slowly works the idea in his mind, turning everything over before it finally hits.

Tony can barely breath when Steve leans in, presses a cheek against the groin of his jeans. His attention catches on Steve’s lips – they’re always bright fucking red, gleaming now that Steve’s practically drooling. Steve shuffles forward a little more on his knees, making these soft noises in the back of his throat as he carefully tugs at the drawstring of Tony’s pants with his teeth. It comes loose easily and there’s a knowing gleam in Steve’s eyes when he flicks his eyes upwards.

"My smart boy," Tony mutters under his breath.

He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, makes him huff, clearly pleased at the short praise. The back of his neck is pink as he tugs at Tony’s sweatpants, draws them down to get at his prize.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time traveler AU that's been sitting in my drafts forever

Bucky would never admit to the shout ( _screech_ ) he gives when the air shudders and writhes before pulling back off tanned skin, dark hair and a sharp suit. All around him the soldiers grumble at him, good natured shouts at worst for him being too damn loud and interrupting their good time and while there are a million words he wants to say, one desperate look of stark terror and shock from Steve and he falls silent, hand trembling as takes a long, terrified pull of beer.

“Who the hell,” he hisses as his heart trips and stumbles, falling all over itself to work properly, “Actually _what_ the he-”

“He’s human,” Steve cuts in, sharp, quick and _defensive_.

Bucky stares, mouth agape in open disbelief and after a beat, Steve ducks his head, face twisting in a complicated mixture of guilt, panic, and worry. The brunet who’s suddenly popped into existence watches the exchange with careful eyes, smiles now, a sharp wolfish grin that he turns on Bucky. The man sticks out his hand and Bucky narrows his eyes, noting the callouses on the meat of his palm, the burns at the fingertips and the minor cuts and scratches betraying the man beneath the sharply cut suit. Slowly Bucky extends his own hand. The flesh feels real, solid and warm; he can’t decide if that’s a comfort or not.

“Tony Stark,” the brunet says, grinning and before Bucky can even think of Howard Stark the brunet makes a noise of affirmation, “Yep, that’d be dear old dad.”

“He’s my husband,” Steve says and Bucky chokes on his beer.

Bucky glances around, feeling his heart clench as fear and panic rips through him. The soldiers are well on their well to drunk, smiling and laughing as their voices raise; there’s no sign that anyone’s heard. Bucky spins round sharply, turning on his best friend.

“Not yet,” Steve offers in a heated rush, ears turning pink as he mumbles, trying to keep his voice low.

“We keep meeting in the wrong order,” the brunet adds on as he slides closer to Steve, grinning up at the blond who returns the smile with a look of faint exasperation, a soft smile dimpling the blond’s cheeks. 

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?” Bucky hisses, half out of his mind with panic and contemplating shoving something between them.

The bru- _Tony_ turns back on Bucky, a furrow appearing between his brows as he folds his arms. 

“I’m a time traveller,” Tony says and the bland, pointed manner in which he says it makes it difficult to tell if its a joke or not. 

Tony crosses his arm, brown eyes blazing as he glowers across the table and Bucky feels himself straightening, rising to the challenge in them. 

“It’s a bit confusing,” Steve offers hesitantly, blue eyes darting between the two men.

Blue eyes are hesitant, careful and pleading and desperately afraid all at once; it’s a look that tears down to his very base, to a young boy who’s desperately out of place and Bucky feels himself relenting. 

He takes a pull of his drink, trying to distract himself with the taste.

“I see,” Bucky manages after a moment. 

Tony’s scowl turns darker and he opens opens his mouth, stopping when Steve nudges him gently and fixes him with a look. It’s a look Bucky knows, has seen it a thousand times from the scrawny Italian woman down the hall from his Brooklyn apartment. She’d scowl and shout at her husband, rushing him out the door in the morning, shouting at him to not forget his lunch, pleading for him to be careful–

And just like that Bucky knows that this, whatever the hell this is, is not and _can_ not possibly be a joke. And while there’s a part of him still reeling, faintly nauseous, it falls away easily enough because this is _Steve_ , Steve who can’t talk to woman, Steve who can’t run away from a fight, Steve who has apparently fallen in love with a time traveling _man_. 

Bucky raises the dirty glass to his lips, glancing around to check that no one’s paying them any attention. The alcohol helps but not too much as it’s not strong enough but there’s a bitter burn, faint as it may be that wets his throat nicely and makes it easier to find words.

“Well alright them,” he manages and Steve smiles at him, bright and so completely and utterly happy Bucky can’t begrudge him anything.

At Steve’s side, Tony’s scowl softens the barest fraction and the man dips his head, making a noise of disgruntlement at the glass before him.

“This is disgusting,” Tony complains, a pitched whine in his voice that Bucky’s heard a thousand times from girls he’s gone after. 

Steve sighs, plucking glass from the man’s fingers and moving to replace it with his own only to have his glass clink against the table, falling through fading fingers. 

The look on the blond’s face is one Bucky never wants to see again. There’s a desperate longing and heavy sorrow that makes Bucky’s heart clench.

He doesn’t tell Steve when he glimpses Tony, fading in and out of existence outside the Colonel’s tent two days later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wing!fic thing based off avengersasssemble's headcanons (their blog here http://avengersasssemble.tumblr.com/)
> 
> There was going to be nesting and preening behavior and then I got distracted.
> 
> Come prompt me on tumblr: rai-kishi.tumblr.com

Steve takes a sharp breath before diving under. 

The water’s warm, temperature controlled like everything else in the tower. Steve sighs a little as he spreads his wings beneath the water, lets his shoulders unknot. The stretch in his muscles makes him groan, the sound caught in bubbles that break the surface over his head.

His wings are too small for him, have been ever since the serum and they feel like stiff muscle on good days and sharp glass on bad ones.

 _Neuropathic pain_ , a SHIELD scientist had told him, eyes a little too bright with interest as he ran his fingers over the fine bone. He’d pulled them straight until Steve had to grit his teeth so hard he could nearly hear them snapping. 

_Interesting how they’re acting like spastic limbs. Does this hurt as much now as it did when I first did it?_

_No._

_It could be due to miswiring in your neural network. Mr. Stark’s notes said that the serum made you smarter as well as stronger, more likely to retain information. The fact that your wings hadn’t changed with the rest of you makes me think whatever neuronal connections were altered were improperly done - the serum wasn’t an exact science, after all. Were you able to move them when you first … changed?_

_Not much._

_Well, now that voluntary movement’s all but cut off and since the muscles have been locked for so long, you’re perceiving any movement as pain._

Steve had wanted to draw them back into himself, hold them pressed tight against his body so that the man would never get to lay a hand on him again. Instead, he had nodded stiffly, accepted the pamphlets for physical and aquatic therapy, and promptly tossed them in the nearest trash can.

He still wonders if maybe he should have tried the numbers. Movement _had_ helped, the stretch blindingly painful at first before his muscles loosened and gave in. He doesn’t need a specialist for something as simple as _that_. 

Steve glances at them from the corners of his eyes and the disproportionate size makes him stiffen up, a hot flash of electricity when his shoulders lock up. He grits his teeth, kicking upright before he drowns himself and startles when he finds Tony watching him from the edge of the path.

“Having fun Cap?” Tony asks, kicking his feet in the water. 

He’s still half in a suit, trouser legs rolled up to his knees as he soaks his feet. Tony’s jacket has been cast to the side along with tie and socks; the white button down’s hanging open with the sleeves rolled up.

He’s holding something pink and no doubt fruity. A little mechanized umbrella twirls slowly in his drink like a ballerina and Steve wants to roll his eyes at it if he weren’t so concerned with the fact that Tony’s clearly not sleeping again and instead making pointless inventions. 

Steve summons a smile for Tony, wades a little closer to the edge of the bath, “I could do laps in your ridiculous bird bath.”

Tony smiles back, all easy charm, eyes dropping appreciatively down Steve’s naked chest. His tongue darts out, quick and pink over his bottom lip, catching droplets of his drink, “The pool would weep at the loss.”

“Flatterer,” Steve accuses, arching his shoulders back as he lifts himself further out of the water. 

The weight of water in his wings lets him pretend they’re not small, feeble and more suited to a body he hadn’t possessed in years. He goes hot and tight, easy want curling in his gut, when Tony lets out a quiet sigh of appreciation.

Tony holds his hand out, palms up.

Steve dips his head in a nod, leaning down to tuck his cheek against Tony’s thigh and lets Tony run his hands over him. Tony has the best hands, a steady warmth over Steve’s back and shoulders. Steve grunts as the fingers dig deep, move with the same meticulous care that Tony puts into his circuit boards. Already, Steve can feel his wings unfurling, going loose.

“Did you stretch this morning?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a while.”

“Bruce suggested gabapentin, says with your increased metabolism you might be able to get to long-term change quicker than us poor humans,” Tony tells him.

“Worth a shot,” Steve sighs. 

It seems he’ll never get away from medication, from papery pills and sore muscle. 

His eyelashes flutter when Tony finally loosens his firm grip. He can feel his wings curling inwards, the muscles quivering and loose but not enough that they hold open. Steve grunts, forces them outwards, tries to flex with muscles he scarcely remembers how to use so Tony can preen.

He doesn’t look back to see if he succeeded, just keeps his breathing slow and easy as Tony’s fingers curl in the feathers. He can feel Tony picking out bits of dirt and debris. Tony’s fingers move over him, slowly and methodically over the flight feathers. Not that they can really be considered flight feathers.

_You didn’t do much “flighting” anyways, Stevie. You gonna cry about this now and not when you were getting beaten down by people twice your size?_

“You’re brooding,” Tony remarks, finger smoothing over the feathers he had finished, a pleased hum in his voice as he examines his handiwork. It’s his “Yes, I got it working. I’m a genius - go me” hum. Steve hides his smirk into the fabric of Tony’s trousers, hands moving from Tony’s lap to circle around, fingers flexing over Tony’s remarkably pert backside before moving upwards. 

Tony doesn’t even flinch when Steve digs his nails biting into the gentle curve of Tony’s spine, coming to a stop just beneath the residual limbs where Tony’s wings are decidedly missing. Steve rubs a thumb against the edges of them, feels the muscle flex and extend beneath his fingers.

_Sometimes neuropathic pain’s referred to as phantom limb syndrome, causes the missing limb feels tight and uncomfortable._

(When loss and grief demands to be felt with terrible murderous need.)

Steve shudders against the memory of snow, shuts his eyes to cold metal against his cheek and an engine roar in his ear. He remembers trying to stretch his wings, to open them out and only have them dig hard into his back.

He can feel his wings knot up, tense and unhappy under Tony’s slow ministrations, jerking out from under gentle fingers.

“Ow,” Steve lies, and presses them tight against himself.

Tony doesn’t comment, just takes his hands away and pushes them through Steve’s hair until he’s able to let his shoulders go loose again.


End file.
